


Mine

by shittershutter



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 04:05:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12161178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shittershutter/pseuds/shittershutter
Summary: "I know the logistics," Collins says evenly when all the wine between them is finished. They have that detached ring to them, the words -- the same that appears when Collins is in his ear announcing he is about to take the plane down -- that gets Farrier all hot and bothered each time it's unleashed upon him in the bedroom.





	Mine

**Author's Note:**

> * Unbetad (So sorry).
> 
> Porn with internal conflict, my favorite kind.

Farrier likes Collins drunk. Makes him behave his age. 

He observes the crease between the man's eyebrows deepening with time and no matter how hard he tries to kiss it off Collins' forehead every chance he gets it stays firmly in place. 

"I know the logistics," Collins says evenly when all the wine between them is finished. They have that detached ring to them, the words -- the same that appears when Collins is in his ear announcing he is about to take the plane down -- that gets Farrier all hot and bothered each time it's unleashed upon him in the bedroom. 

"I've seen you do it," he adds, blood rushing to Farrier's face, burning against the skin.

He leans up and places another strategical kiss between Collins' eyebrows to hide the treacherous redness of his cheeks -- to no avail, but still, it never stops him from trying -- and stares Collins's cock down as it sticks up between them. 

"You seem to love it, yeah?" Collins presses a soft little kiss against his ear, trimmed nails scratching against the hair down Farrier's chest. 

Now, Farrier has the strange relationship with the cock up his arse. The first time he finds himself on his back under the boy his age, rusty mattress springs digging into his shoulder blades, he also finds himself, literally, in a way. 

He wouldn't call it love, not until Collins comes along, anyway.

He's had men crying on his shoulder for years about this grand concept of how to live in general, about what to say to their wife and how to stroke their children's hair with the same hand that was just on Farrier's cock. When he'd feel charitable for advice, it'd be simple and fairly impractical, something like: "Just do it."

If this is what makes you whole, you just do it. 

"I'm going to hurt you," he mumbles as quietly as he can. Because Collins would fucking love to see him try. "Especially like this," he gestures at Collins' legs straddling his. 

They have test flights scheduled for tomorrow and chances are Collins will need his tight little bum in top condition for an odd crash landing. 

"Besides, it's a waste of a perfectly fine cock," he slides his fist up and down Collins' organ in question at the pace the man likes, squeezing him a bit. The length of it, as it goes and goes against his palm, is so delicious it's salivating. He has to swallow the excess moisture as he watches the foreskin moving against the glistening head along with his fingers. 

"Maybe," Collins says, and while his voice is shaky with Farrier's rhythm, there is a hard edge to it that makes the older man look up. "Maybe I'm a bit more than a fine cock, don't you think?" 

Bloody hell, Farrier thinks. He's got him angry now. There is a look on Collins' face like he is considering to crash their mouths together and kiss him until he ceases to breathe.

The one he gets when Farrier's ultimate future fantasy -- of a brutal war coming, of him dying and Collins going on with his life, because Collins seems like a person who can be good in living life in general -- spills out of him in one way or another. The one that appears when he feels like Farrier is trying to push him away, behind the lines, to stand idly with the rest of the world and observe as Farrier combats his own demons in his imaginary noble solitude.

"That's not what I've meant, love," Farrier says carefully, maintaining the eye contact. He brings his fist down clenching the fingers tighter, and Collins' hips jump, unbothered by his disapproving look, fucking into Farrier's grasp as he leaks against his fingers.

"You _know_ that's not what I've meant, right?"

He rubs his thumb against the head, skin soft and wet, so wet he's surprised Collins can keep his scowl for this long.

"You know how much I love you, baby boy, don't you?" he lowers his voice like it's his most dangerous secret. "You know you're the first thing in my head when I wake up? The last thing in my head when I fall asleep? You and nothing else?"

Collins lets out a long pitiful _ahhhhhh_ and digs his fingers into Farrier's chest for leverage, fucking his fist with the same sharp precision he would fuck Farrier's arse if he wanted him to come untouched. 

"I want you to fuck me because..." he is shaking his head now violently, trying to get all of his hair out of his eyes -- Farrier reaches out to help him out with his free hand, pushing the locks back and keeping them there. 

He's seen them a million times before, focused on him, but he is never prepared for how blue, how sharp Collins' eyes are. He just gapes, shudders running through his entire body, unable to move.

"... I want you to take me," Collins gulps, sweat running down his chest. "Make me yours." He chuckles then as the blush spreads across his chest, sheepish and turned on with the stupid romantic idea that has stuck in his head so firmly. 

"... but you _are_ mine," Farrier stares at him stupidly, and if he's ever regretted not being good with words it's right here and now. 

"You are mine," he says louder, firmer. 

Collins' nails leave dents in him, and he doesn't even feel it. His come spatters him up to the jaw, and it takes a long time for him to stop grinding. 

When he does, Farrier is still wearing a bewildered expression which Collins thankfully doesn't notice as he drops down to his chest. He wipes the come off the underside of Farrier's jaw with his trembling fingers, chuckling: "Now that was the waste of a perfectly fine cock."

"Well, I want you relaxed before I fuck you, don't I?" Farrier says reasonably. He can use his in-ear pilot voice when he wants to, too. 

Collins mewls weakly against him and tightens his hands around the other man's chest. 

It complicates the process of trying to locate the vaseline with the dead weight pushing him down, but Farrier is inventive and capable, one of them creative thinkers among the RAF ranks, so he twists them both as he palms around the sheets until he finds it. 

He slicks Collins really well, so well they'll need to restock on their supplies after this, rubbing against his hole. It's tight, so he just applies rhythmic pressure against the rim until Collins' hips get the idea and start moving.

"Push back for me, love," he whispers against the side of Collins' head. "When you're ready."

It's not the smartest thing to say, knowing Collins -- the man is the first to be ready for everything, anytime; but with all honesty Farrier has been hard for what seems like a century and it affects his rational thinking process to the degree he'll be ashamed of afterward. 

Collins' nails are back, and it's almost like they find the same dents they've left before as he rears up and pushes back, hard, making them both gasp as he gets two fingers inside.

Farrier slaps his shoulder, rolling his eyes. "I'm really trying here." 

Collins sticks his tongue out at him and boy, does he look young, so soft around the edges. It makes Farrier's chest ache with love and regret in equal parts to the point his eyelids start stinging. 

He angles his hand and pushes hard to distract Collins from picking up on his mood shift as he always does with no effort at all. That gets an airy ah! out of him and that's good. Ah! is something Farrier can work with. 

He gets Collins hard and grinding down on his hand soon; eyes screwed so tightly shut it scrunches his entire face. 

Farrier can stare at him in peace now -- as misty-eyed as he wants to be -- as the long pale body atop of him moves and shakes. 

He studies the rhythm he likes, fast on his way up with a slow grind down, memorizes the tilt of the hips that makes him gasp. 

Human bodies are like the machines -- you study how they work, you learn how to fix them -- and they never let you down. 

When he finally gets inside Collins' body it's so overwhelming he has to dig his fingers into the man's arse so hard it definitely hurts him -- and it's not like Collins needs more discomfort in the region -- but to hell with being considerate. If he only dares to move or squeeze it'd be over before he gets a proper taste of the experience. 

It's been a decade; Farrier counts to distract himself from the pulsing hot flesh that tenses and releases around him. A decade since he'd last been inside of someone. 

"Such a pretty boy," he whispers in awe. "All mine."

The sound that tears out of Collins' chest is not entirely human as his body surges forward, forehead barely missing Farrier's jaw. He digs his head into Farrier's shoulder hard, and while he's distracted, Farrier pushes inside all the way. 

"What are you doing to me?" Collins whines, sweat sliding down his cheeks like tears. 

Farrier makes an effort to turn his head and stare at him. "You asked for it, sweetheart." He thrusts up a few times experimentally. "Repeatedly."

Collins huffs and bites the thick muscle of his neck. "You know damn fucking well what I mean."

"Keep biting me, and I'll be done in seconds," Farrier retorts and kisses the younger man instead to keep his gasping mouth focused on something. 

Which might be not the brightest idea of his -- Collins concentrates on biting his mouth and tongue bloody raw as soon as he gets into a proper rhythm and finds a better angle.

Farrier wipes his red mouth, wraps both hands around Collins' spread thighs and turns them over, slipping deeper as he does. He keeps a good distance between their faces this way, too. He has places to be tomorrow and arriving looking like a vampire whore would be certainly frowned upon.

It leaves Collins with panting into his face, hot wet breaths of the dying man nearly blinding Farrier above him as he goes for a few particularly well-aimed thrusts and makes him come. 

Collins slurs drunk declarations of love into his hair, limbs locked tightly around the man above him, as Farrier spills inside and stays in place until it turns nasty and he absolutely has to pull out. 

* * * 

"Feel like I should buy you a ring after this," Farrier snorts watching the other man limp to the bathroom, thin streaks of come on his inner thighs reflecting the dim light. 

Collins laughs weakly and throws a towel aiming for Farrier's head without turning around. He hits the mark, of course, he always does.


End file.
